


Dirty Floors

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Crying, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fever, Gen, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 12:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6423187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patryk won't go to bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Floors

**Author's Note:**

> this is basically just tord trying to hide that he's a decent person

"Look, I'm not angry." Tord pointed his finger at a glob on the hallway floor. "I just want to know who vomited on my floor."

"I bet it was Roman."

"No way. It was Mei-Shio."

"Don't put this on me!"

"Soren is awfully suspicious to me."

The halls were abuzz with conversation. Tord would have killed them if he didn't need the support. They all pointed fingers. Christ, he just wanted an answer for once. Honestly it'd have been easier to just clean it himself...

"Wait! I know!"

"Great, Edvard. Say it." 

They parted like the Red Sea, revealing two men in the back. Paul ter Voorde and Patryk Gretsky. Patryk looked up, a hand cupped over his mouth, and then shot his eyes back down. Paul had a hand on his back, and an unbreaking gaze shared with his boss. "...Gretsky. Gretsky, take your hand off of your face and stand up straight, man." Patryk didn't move a muscle. "Vondra, tell the third in command to stand up."

A much taller and stronger woman slapped Patryk on his lower back. Immediately he fell to his knees, his body curling up. He hacked out disgusting spew all over his knees and the floor. Nobody dared touch him, aside from Paul, who grabbed his shoulders and held him close.

"I'm-I'm so sorry, sir." He shuddered, removing his jacket. "I'll cover it with something..."

"Damn right you will, making me come out here."

"Well, I'm out."

"What a waste of time."

"Gretsky, are you alright?" Tord bent down, touching his third in command's face. " _Herregud_ , you're hot like an oven."

"I told him not to go to work, but he did anyway." Paul sighed. "Said he didn't want to disappoint you."

"...Christ..."

-

-

"Alright, there we go."

Tord finally pulled a blanket over a weakly struggling Patryk. He had a nice bag of ice on his forehead, a mattress and pillow under his back, and his favorite bear for good measure. Being a bit worrisome about these things, Paul was standing in the room with latex gloves on. (Apparently it was cleaner when he was wearing 2 layers of sweater.) The patient himself whined, trying to roll off of the mattress.

"No, I really have work to do, and I--"

"Gretsky, get back on that bed."

"Sir, I don't want to be--"

"No."

Reluctantly, Patryk crawled back onto the mattress, burying his face into the pillows. "Paul, go get me some cigars." Paul nodded, running out the door. "You should've said something, Gretsky."

"I needed to work..." He grabbed at the pillow and whined, Tord hastily repositioning the ice. "Please, sir, I don't want to be a disappointment!"

"Come on, soldier. Everyone gets sick now and then."

"I have to!" He rose his head, face bright red and absolutely soaked with tears. Tord sighed as Patryk continued. "I've never done anything useful, I've just been dead weight! I can't make things harder, I'm sorry, I just--" Patryk's throat began to convulse, launching gunk from his mouth and onto the floor. He buried his face back into the pillow and sobbed like a newborn babe. The poor bastard...

"Come now." Tord knelt on the corner of the mattress, patting his lap. "I'm not mad."

"You're...You're not?"

"He's not?!" Oh, hey, Paul was back with the cigars. Tord rolled his eyes. Tord snapped his fingers.

"Ibuprofen. Go."

"Yessir!" And there Paul went. Tord turned back to the still red-faced and shiny-eyed Patryk, lip quivering gently. Tord wiped his face with a thumb, then patting his cheek and laying the soldier's weary head on his lap.

"There. See? I'm not angry."

Patryk was always too soft for traditional methods of training. Tord somewhat enjoyed the variety he created. As much as he picked on his soldiers, he really did care about most of them. Tord sighed, petting the soldier's hot face in total silence. Christ, this man wasn't army material. But Tord couldn't bear to throw him out, he'd gotten... somewhat attached to him. "Don't worry. Alright?"

"But I've got work..." Patryk sniffled, burying his face in Tord's lap. "Everyone will make fun of me twice as much, now I can't do anything..."

"Who's makin' fun of my buddy?!" Oh, hey! Paul was back again, this time with a bottle of ibuprofen. "I'll punch the shit out of them!"

"Shh." Tord pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't be so damn loud."

"...I'll still do it." Paul whispered, sitting down beside the mattress. "Hey, why's Pat using your lap as a pillow? What if he vomits on your--"

"Stop right there, ter Voorde."

"Y-yessir."

Patryk gazed up at the two of them, beginning to sit up.

"Listen," He began to speak. "this is all very kind and lovely. But I can't be sitting here wasting space and time!" His body rose from the little mattress and then immediately fell, being caught by his two makeshift nurses. 

"Dude--"

"I am not your 'dude', Paul!"

"Look. Dude. If you go out on the field like this then you'll get hurt and be stuck here even longer."

"I-I'll tough it out!" His pudgy face pushed out with an almighty frown, more big bubble tears gushing down his wrinkled cheeks. "I don't want to be a disappointment, I never do anything but sit by and...and..." He buried his face in his hands, sobbing incoherently. Paul reached over to hug him, but then Tord tapped his shoulders. He held his arms out for the ill soldier.

"You're not disappointing me, Gretsky."

Patryk hiccuped, already being back-hugged by Paul. 

"But...but I..."

"You're very important. To ter Voorde and I both."

He wrapped his arms around Patryk's shoulders, holding the back of his head. Perhaps this was a bad idea. Perhaps he'd get sick. In the end he didn't really care. Patryk clutched his coat and cried noisily into his shoulder, continuing to blubber out nonsense. He was almost like a shy child clinging to his stuffed toys. Poor bastard, indeed.

They stayed this way for a long time, in total silence. After awhile, Paul rose to Patryk's steady breath, then tapping Tord on the shoulder.

"I think he's asleep."

"Right. I wouldn't want to leave and disturb him." Tord seemed contented, for once. Paul looked at him, and smiled, just a little bit. He'd never seen Tord quite this happy, especially since they were dealing with a sick man. 

"Well, I'll go do my rounds then. Edvard will be my co-pilot for the day."

"Sounds good to me."

Paul shuffled out the door, taking one last look at his boss. He always knew Tord had it in him.


End file.
